I do perceive that the old proverb be not alwaies trew, for I do
finde that the absence of read more

I do perceive that the old proverb be not alwaies trew, for I do
finde that the absence of my Nath, doth breeds in me the more
continuall remembrance of him.

No memory is ever alone; it's at the end of a trail of memories, a dozen trails that each have read more

No memory is ever alone; it's at the end of a trail of memories, a dozen trails that each have their own associations.

Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.

Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.

But each day brings its petty dust our soon-choked souls to fill, and we forget because we must, and not read more

But each day brings its petty dust our soon-choked souls to fill, and we forget because we must, and not because we will.

of thought.

of thought.

Every man's memory is his private literature.

Every man's memory is his private literature.

Do not trust your memory; it is a net full of holes; the most
beautiful prizes slip through it.

Do not trust your memory; it is a net full of holes; the most
beautiful prizes slip through it.

The mother may forget the child
That smiles sae sweetly on her knee;
But I'll remember thee, read more

The mother may forget the child
That smiles sae sweetly on her knee;
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn,
And all that thou hast done for me!

The true art of memory is the art of attention.

The true art of memory is the art of attention.